The Lost Past (REDUX)
Oh yeah, Mr. Krabs. I'm going to use the old story as a template. Each section will be rehauled slowly but surely. Hopefully I'll actually be able to reach the climax. Introduction Frosty wind blows relentlessly across the city streets, rattling the shutters of open windows with an obnoxious repetition that intertwined with whistling breeze. V's of geese flocked overhead, their boisterous honking further breaking the ambient silence as they flew beyond the reach of the buildings. Not a single soul traversed the smooth concrete sidewalks, which were littered with leaves that were thrown across the empty tarmac streets, courtesy of the curling winds. A single teenager walked through this empty land, seemingly lonely as they traveled with their hands shoved into their pockets, kicking aside the leaves with their shoes. They didn't seem to have come from or intended on going anywhere in particular. They just walked, each step taking sections of time uninvested in. Chapter 01 - Green A phone alarm screams with a vengeance into the quietness of the mid-early morning. Ryan Blodkat was instantly jolted awake, courtesy of the blaring device sitting barely a foot away from his ear. He had to resist the red-hot temptation to grab his phone and throw it onto the floor--since it had no case on it--instead choosing to try and swipe his finger across the screen to turn off the obnoxious alarm. However, with his fumbling, he accidentally slides the phone off his night stand and onto the floor with a series of hard, dull thuds. The alarm continues to scream at him as he inhales deeply, and lets loose a loud groan of frustration. He relishes in the cool softness of his sheets and the plushness of his pillow for as long as he can, before huffing again and slowly sliding off of his bed. The teenager reaches down for his phone, and almost triumphantly turns off the alarm before putting it back in its rightful place on his night stand. Head heavy with the typical morning grog, he shuffles his way across his room and out the door, making his way towards the bathroom. As he prepares to brush his teeth, he looks at himself in the mirror. Creamy blonde hair sticks up in multiple directions, sometimes falling across a fair-skinned forehead that was devoid of any notable imperfections. Dark, ruddy--almost red--eyes stare back at him with an empty neutrality. He felt like absolute shit. After brushing up and taking a quick shower, he quietly makes his way down the stairs into the kitchen, feeling refreshed and rejuvenated in a fresh set of clothes, clean skin, and soft hair. It was a new day, in a new place, in a new school. College. A new dorm full of people he honestly didn't think much about, new classes that allowed just that tiny bit of wiggle room, and a new set of faces to see again and again with each passing year. Ryan couldn't lie--he missed home. Sickly so. Missed his mother, his bed--but this was how society said things should be gone about. If he could've, he would have helped out his mom for as long as possible. Yawning in his stuffy red sweater and stiff gray jeans, Ryan set his already-prepared backpack onto a nearby couch, before starting to cobble together some form of breakfast for himself--AKA tossing a microwave Kraft mac-and-cheese in and waiting for it to cook, as well as pouring himself a glass of Brita filtered, fridge-cooled water. Chapter 2 :: Storytime. ' Ryan's P.O.V. ' I awkwardly sat at my desk. Setting my crossed arms down onto the cold wood, I lay my head onto them, and let out a long sigh. As students filed into the classroom, I was immediately aware of the already rising buzz of gossip. Then, I saw a teenager--around my age--settle down in the seat in front of me. I guessed that that was Ethan Viruca. Here's what he looked like: He had azure blue eyes--which barely had any light in them--and dark brown hair that was streaked with rust colored highlights. Pale skinned, and, I'm guessing, he was around 5"4. He wore a black sweater over a navy blue T-shirt, and black jeans. After setting his backpack down onto his chair, I had quickly flickered my gaze to the various posters posted up on the walls, not wanting to catch me staring at him. Turned out those posters were way too cheerful for my taste. So, I turned my head--and was met with the nonchalant, azure gaze of Ethan Viruca. ~No one's P.O.V.~ "Hello," he greeted, in a somewhat quiet voice that had a subtle lilt in it. "Uh, hi?" Ryan said back. "Why are you--" "Staring at you?" Ethan cut off his sentence, yet taking the words straight out of Ryan's mouth. "I could be asking the same thing for you." "I was contemplating whether I should talk to you . . . " Ryan murmured, trailing off and becoming quiet. Ethan's solid, suspicious glare softened. He wondered if Ryan had made any friends, anywhere. "Are you--" Ethan began to ask. "HEY, VIRUCA!" A voice yelled. The two turned to see a tall, lanky kid walking towards them. He wore a green T-shirt with gray wings on the back of it, and had messy, platinum blonde hair that slanted over to the right. "Hello, Tyler." Ethan gave a nonchalant wave of his hand. "How are you?" "Fine! All good, my man!" Tyler answered, his green eyes twinkling. He turns his head to face Ryan, as if just noticing him. "Who's this?" Ethan raised an eyebrow at Ryan, who responded by quietly raising up his flash card. "Ryan, eh?" Tyler remarked. "Blodkat. Nice last name!" He gave Ryan a hearty smack on the back, chuckling. Ethan's face slightly reddened, as if embarrassed by his rowdy friend. Ryan turned his gaze downwards, feeling awkward. He had never had anyone acknowledge him this way. So enthusiastically. A slight itch of gratitude tingled around in his chest. The bell rang out, and Tyler immediately leapt over a desk and swiftly took his seat next to Ryan's. The teacher--Mrs. Trina, Ryan guessed--walked in, happily greeting everyone in the class. Ryan immediately tuned her out when she began talking about what a 'great year we're going to have, together'. It sickened him. He glanced over at the desk to his left, which remained empty. He tilted his head, trying to see what the complicated cursive depicted. Anna Smith. "Tyler?" Ryan whispered, shifting his gaze to the tall blonde. "Yeah?" He replied, quickly assuming the same position as Ryan, covering his mouth with crossed arms fixed onto the desk. "Who's 'Anna Smith'?" "Anna's here, too?" Tyler asked, as if Ryan knew this stuff. "Sweet. Cool, cool--Anna's a cool girl. Once you meet her, you'll like her right when you catch a glimpse of her. Gentle, motherly little lady, I'll say." "Oh." The shy boy mumbled, before turning his attention back to the teacher, who-- Was making everyone get up, and introduce themselves. Ryan stiffened, and immediately buried his face into his arms, his face red with embarrassment, and his eyes shut, as if trying to just block everything out. He hated this stuff. However, it wasn't long before Ryan's turn had come, but before he could say something, Ethan piped up, instead, even standing up. "Mrs. Trina?" He began. "I believe Ryan wishes to introduce himself privately to you." "Is that so?" Mrs. Trina answered, slightly tilting her head. "If he wishes to, alright." "Thank you." Ethan sat back down, cool as a cucumber. He shifted his glance to Ryan, who was staring at him with suspicion. "Why'd you--" "Save you from potential humiliation, and protect your shy, relatively-introverted nature from being known to the entire class?" Ethan interrupted. "I just felt it was what I had to do." "What are you, some kind of--" "Mind reader? I'm not." " . . . Dude." Ryan stared at him, incredulous. Before Ethan could ask 'what?', a student quietly walked into the classroom. Silky waves of caramel cascaded a lean, thin back, and hazel eyes glinted with an innocent air. "Hello, Anna!" Mrs. Trina greeted. "Hello." Anna said, quietly. She walked over to the teacher's oak wood desk, and gently placed a green hall pass onto it. She made her way to her seat without another word, right next to Ryan. "Anyway!" Mrs. Trina smacked her hands together. "It's time to . . . " Ryan tuned her out, and miserably buried his face into his forearm. He was tired, but he had somehow managed to make a friend on the first day. Two friends, maybe. "Hello!" Ryan heard a voice pipe up. He turned his head, and Anna was facing him, her eyes glittering with enthusiasm. "Hey." Ryan murmured, his eyelids beginning to grow heavy. "What's your name?" Anna asked, slightly tilting her head. "I'm Anna." "I've heard," Ryan mumbled, his head falling onto his now crossed arms, settling down on the cold surface of the desk. "I'm Ryan. Ryan Blodkat." "Hi, Ryan." Anna greeted, again. "Tired?" "Yes," Ryan sighed. "Very. I just moved here." "I see." He allowed his thoughts to wander, and the next thing he knew, he had unwittingly nodded off. "Ryan!" "Blodkat, hey, man. You still alive?" "Ryan, wake up." His eyelids fluttered open, still heavy with grogginess. He lifted his gaze up from the burrow of his arms, and Ethan, Anna, and Tyler were looming over him. "Ryan, hey." Tyler began. "It's social time, according to Trina. She says it's good to have time to get to know your peers, bro." "Oh," Ryan murnured. "Why wasn't I woken up?" "Mrs. Trina allows tired students to sleep." Ethan quietly explained. "She has ways of re-teaching." "So!" Anna's eyes immediately filled with an eager gleam. "It's time!" "Aw, yeah, missus." Tyler smacked his hands together, rubbing them with an anticipating enthusiasm. "It's time." "For . . . ?" Ryan muttered, staring up at the blinding lights to try and wake himself up. "Story time!" Anna lightly cheered. "As soon as the others show up!" "Oh, joy." Ryan sighed. It wasn't long before the 'others' began to show up. There was Anthony, a medium-height, black-haired boy with green eyes rimmed with hazel. Seth, a small 9th grade boy with bright blonde hair, and hazel colored eyes. Ian, an 11th grader with dark blue eyes flecked with gold, resembling a star field, with bluish-black hair that spiked towards the right. Then Ashley--she preferred Ash--a defiant girl with black and gray striped hair with pale blue eyes. "Oh, God." Ryan muttered, burying his face into his still crossed arms. "Alright, so!" Anna began. "Now that we're all here . . . " She brought out a large, ancient-looking book, bordered with swirling patterns. There was no title in evidence, and the book itself was bound with worn, supple leather that seemed long welded to fitting the thin pages. "Is this a regular thing?" Ryan asked, staring at the worn book. "Yes," Ash answered, nonchalant. "It's really cool. Should we start over for--" she peeked at Ryan's flash card. "--Ryan?" "Let's," Ian commented. "The beginning was a definite hook." Anna deftly flipped open the book, to the preface. Ryan tilted his head, while the others, watching his every move, smirked and chuckled. "Long ago," Anna began, voice lowering to an ominous monotone. "There lived a foreign, but legendary race of warrior fighters. They resided within a strict caste system, where they lived permanently divided. There were many renowned fighters in this system of combative legends. One of them, a great melee fighter of tremendous power, ruled this kingdom. "He stood amongst this ancient race with one of his most trusted advisors. Folklore suggests that when he fought courageously at a particularly bloody battle, his eyes would emit a powerful glow of strength. As previously mentioned, there were many, many great warriors of this ancient race, and this archivial journal will tell their long-gone tales." Anna glanced up to look at Ryan, who looked nothing but stupified. Ian prodded him, snickering. "Well? Are you there?" Ian asked, quietly. "That . . . " Ryan mumbled, looking up. " . . . Was . . . Interesting, I suppose." "Then I'll continue reading," Anna said, flipping to the first chapter. "Chapter 1--Shock Of Blue." Anna read in a clear voice. "This senator was of great technological power. At a young age, he mastered the military skills of 10 renowned soldiers, retaining the capability of swift, deadly maneuvers. However, his knowledge spanned just as wide as his strength in combat. He was an effective philosopher, and one of a finely-tuned mindset." "Just like my lil' bro, eh?" Ian commented, prodding Ethan with an elbow. Ethan's face turned a slight red, embarrassed. "This young First-Borne eventually caught the general's attention. He was immediately seized from his Guardians, and taken into the militia for tests to prove his worth. "His prowess far exceeded their expectations, and had surpassed the finest technological masterminds at the time. Impressed by this young adolescent's notable skill, officials, including the ruler of them all, had assigned him as a hacker to invade other civilizations' communication systems. It eventually dawned on him that, by accepting this role, he had surrendered himself as a puppet to the government. Although he found out this was the case for most of the officials, the ruling hand of this entire operation did not find him so. "So, the ruler of the race confided in the knowledgable disciple, and reared him to near adulthood, teaching him essential skills to hone both his physical and mental abilities. As time slowly took its toll on the clock, the master hacker became known as The Manipulator, in honor of his deceptive tactics and renowned intelligence in all courses. "This tale did not end in tender care, however. For, several years later, the Manipulator was caught in a mass rebellion against the enslaved victims that had previously had their homes invaded. As knowledgable a deity he was, he was not able to quell the fires of rebellion. For this, he was cast away from government position, and deemed a traitor to the higher-classes. Despite this severe seclusion from the official figures of the system, the ruling warrior that was previously his mentor did not falter. "He had promptly proceeded to track down the Manipulator, whilst simultaneously disobeying the ancient customs of punishment. He knew full well of the severity of this traitorous felony, and lead his mission in secrecy, albeit secluding himself to proceed with his plans seemed to deem him no well. A senior attorney of the judicial system discovered the ruling warrior's secluded plans, and had immediately sent out a mass notification to the people. It is said that after this, the ruling heir disappeared from reality. "The ruling hand was never found, again. Nor was the Manipulator. However, it is said that the Manipulator had left behind precious relics of lost time specifically for the ruler himself. It is also rumored that the ruler had tracked down the Manipulator until his unseen death. "Despite this, some claimed that both the traitorous ruler, and the Manipulator were both alive. For every midnight, on the days both the ancient warrior and renowned philosopher had been outcast, lightning storms mysteriously blackened out the sky, and lightning bolts of various colors would strike down various people. They say that it is the ruler taking revenge for the Manipulator, and for the officials driving him off his place on the throne. Rainstorms seemed especially incessant. Severe rainstorms struck the land, shorting out power sources. Causing floods that washed away supplies. They say the Manipulator is attempting to destroy them, washing away their items of worth. Trying to take back the knowledge he had ever given them. "The most bewildering of all these events, however, was a blue electrical shock that occurred whenever one lit up a room--whether candle light, lantern light, etcetera--and instantaneously vanished. Although the shock caused no harm, it sparked controversy. The mystery of these phenomena remain unsolved, forever . . . " Anna quickly flipped the book over in her hands, and showed the others an illustration of the Manipulator. It showed a tall, regal figure with flowing cloaks, luxurious robes, and rich jewels strung through pendents and bracelets deftly tied around his neck and wrists. Clutched in his hand appeared to be a large, heavy tome, which he held tightly against his chest. His other hand was held outwards, aura ghosting around his gloved fingers. "Still looks epic as always," Ash commented. "Ryan, what do you think?" "Quite a figure of authority." Ryan murmured, quiet. "Man. Ethan, you're a dead reflection of that guy. Smart one he was, just like you are, now." Tyler remarked, giving him a hearty slap to the back, causing him to slightly lurch forward from the momentum. He quickly righted himself, face even more red than before. "Oh, leave him be, Ty." Anthony broke in. He casually brushed aside the thin locks that pervaded his vision. "He's smart, but I'm pretty sure he's an independent worker--A.K.A., sort of prefers not being prodded." "Oh," Tyler mumbled. "Whoops. Sorry, man." "It's fine," Ethan murmured, he turned his head to look at the clock. "When do we leave?" "Right about now." Anna replied, closing the book and tucking it under her arm. "I'll probably see you guys at lunch." "Same. If I don't get detention." Ash remarked, tugging at the chafing collar of her sweater. "Because, apparently, correcting someone is insubordinative." " . . . You can get detention on the first day?" Ryan asked, slightly stunned. "Yeah," Ash replied. "Kinda stupid. Snippy. Whatever. Let's see how many I'll get this year." "Bet it be 35." Tyler teased. "Shut up," Ash hissed. "That's coming from the guy that came skateboarding straight through the door and denting a desk, last year." "I was practicing, Asher!" Tyler protested, a smirk etching its way into his face. Ryan tuned out the argument, and he noticed a tall 11th grader, sitting at one of the front desks, with black hair, staring at him. His heterochromatic green and rust brown eyes were warily staring him straight in the eyes, and the gaze quickly flit away when Ryan opened his mouth to speak. "Ethan?" Ryan murmured, lowering his voice. Ethan glanced at him, signalling him to proceed. "Who's that in desk R2?" "No one knows his name." Ethan answered. "Though, a lot of people think he's mute." "Oh." Ethan quickly stole a glance at the student in desk R2, then back at Ryan. He opened his mouth to speak, but quickly closed it, shaking his head. "What?" Ryan tilted his head. "You . . . " Ethan murmured, hesitant. "Have a resemblance to him, I'll admit . . . " "Hey, guys!" Seth called out. He quickly ran over to Ethan and Ryan. "It's time to leave!" "See you, later." Ethan said, walking over to his desk, and picking up his books. He slung his backpack over his shoulder. "We'll talk at lunch." Ryan sighed as he watched Ethan walk out of the classroom. He proceeded to pack up, but right when he was about to leave, he turned his head to take one last look at the classroom--and was instead face-to-face with the mysterious, nameless stranger. "Uh . . . " Ryan stammered. "Do you need something?" The stranger didn't say anything, but he simply stepped forward, causing Ryan to step back. This process continued until Ryan was against the wall, glancing up at the considerably taller student. He JUST noticed that the student had him by the collar. The strangely-silent teenager glared down at him, and Ryan swore that he saw his narrowed, suspicion-filled eyes flicker. "Ryan, are you alright?" Mrs. Trina called out. Ryan turned his head to look at her. "Y-Yes, Mrs. Trina." Ryan shifted his glance away from his teacher--and was surprised to see that the stranger was gone. He had disappeared, without Ryan's knowing. Incredulous, he quickly walked over to Mrs. Trina's desk for a pass, head spinning with questions. "So, WHAT now?" " . . . Then he just disappeared." Ryan murmured, shifting his spoon around his mashed potatoes. "Well, he's a bit off, so." Ian mumbled, biting into a chicken wrap. "Don't worry about it." "Where is he, now?" "Should be in class." Seth answered. "If he isn't, then I wouldn't know . . . " "He's--" Tyler began, pointing. "--Right . . . Here?" Ryan took a nervous glance in the direction Tyler was pointing at, and, surely enough, the strange student was there. Nonchalant. Panic and part fear shot through Ryan's body, for a moment, but he simply turned away his glance and continued eating his lunch. "I'm home!" Ryan burst through the door, flinging his backpack over at the base of the steps. Slamming the door shut, he ran into the kitchen. However, he was greeted with silence. Tilting his head, he walked over to the table, where a slightly curled paper lay neatly on the hard wood. It said: '' Ryan, I'll be out for a few days on a business trip. Stay out of trouble, dear! ♥. '' The boy sighed. His mother often forgot to tell him about certain things. Oh, well. He looked over the house, looking for something to clean up, move around, or anything. After his last search in the basement, as he climbed up the dusty staircase, he heard a bang at the door. Usually, Ryan became extremely nervous and paranoid at unfamiliar things, and he proceeded to do so. Out of instinct, he snuck through the other hall towards the kitchen, where he picked up a steak knife from the drawer of cutlery. He even went ahead to grab the pistol that sat at the top of the cupboards, and proceeded to load the revolver with four bullets. Then, he slowly made his way to the door. The banging, which had gone silent after its first rounds, persisted, being even louder than ever. Ryan made his way towards the door from the right, where he couldn't be seen through the windowed door, and lay his hand on the doorknob, very slowly turning it. Finally risking it, Ryan threw open the door and held the pistol in front of him, one eye shut for aiming. "Whoa! Blodkat, hold your horses, man!" He immediately recognized that voice. Lowering the pistol, he was greeted by the sight of Tyler, Ian, Ethan, and Anthony. "The Heck?" Ryan hissed. "How'd you--" "Find your house?" Ethan cut in. "We ride the same bus, you know." " . . . Stalker." Ryan muttered, tightening his grip on the steak knife's stiff handle. "What are you guys doing here, anyway?" "Aww, c'mon Blodkitty! We can't come and talk to our ol' buddy?" " . . . I met you all only today." Ryan mumbled, his glance shifting beyond his friends. "Anna, Ash, Seth. You can't hide from me. Come on out." "I told you we shouldn't have hidden behind the hedge!" An indignant voice rang out. "We should have hidden in that holly bush! Remember I told you about that bush, mama Anna?" Seth came tumbling out from behind the hedge. " . . . Mama?" Ryan questioned. "Yes." Ethan said. "Anna babysits." "Oh." "Yes! I remember that bush!" Anna walked out from behind the hedge, chuckling. "It's Ash you should be telling that to. Remember how she said 'hide in this green wall'?" "Yeah!" Seth pretended to be angry at Ash, but was laughing all the way though. "Auntie Ash! Why'd you say the hedge?" Before Ryan could ask, Ethan answered aloud. "Seth is a sweet child. He thinks that friends are just as important as family, so he calls us as such. For instance, he calls Ian 'uncle'." "You didn't have to!" Ash sniggered. "Hmm." Ian mumbled, eyeing Seth bouncing about. "Hm?" Ethan glanced at Ian. "Hey, Ry?" Ian began, prodding Ryan, who was busy unloading the revolver, and slipping the unused bullets into the pocket of his jeans. "Yeah?" Ryan looked up, while simultaneously flicking the muzzle of the pistol back in place with a click. "What do you think of the A--" Ian immediately cut himself off, then began, again. "Uh, don't know what happened there. I meant to say: What do you think of the legends?" Ian asked. "Pretty cool, I guess?" Ryan answered, tentative. "I've only heard one tale. So, I can't really put any exact input on it." "Ah. I see." Chapter 3 - Something wrong. "Your mother left?" Ethan asked, quietly. "Without telling you?" After the fiasco, Ryan had felt obligated to make up for aiming a gun in their face--by making tea, and hot chocolate. "Yeah," Ryan answered. "She left me a note, though." "Well, at least she notified you, eventually." Ethan murmured, gently setting down his teacup. "Hey, Blodkat." Tyler began. "Where'd your dad go?" Ryan tensed, and he let out a shuddery sigh. Ethan saw that Ryan's hands began shaking. So, he gave Tyler a firm push on the shoulder. "Wha--? Oh . . . " Tyler, realizing his error, quickly backtracking. "Oh, uh, ignore that question." Ryan visibly seemed to relax, his shoulders loosening. "I didn't know hot chocolate could be THIS good," Ian commented, who had been busily slurping up the warm, chocolatey drink. "What's your secret, Blod?" "Touch of vanilla." Ryan replied, smirking. "Mm," Ian proceeded to empty his cup. "Hey, who's that at the window?" Seth said, pointing. Ryan, purely out of instinct, whipped around and snatched up the--still empty--pistol and faced the window. There was a shadow, with heterochromatic eyes glowing through the inky darkness. Ryan immediately recognized that same kid that had cornered him. "I know that the gun is empty, Ryan Blodkat." A deep, snarly voice broke out from the shadow's side of the window. It was hollow, but clear enough to hear, if not a bit monotone. "How undignified. A child like you being allowed to wield such a dangerous weapon." The shadow then walked out of view, leaves' muffled crunching being heard. "Was that him?" Ian blinked, his eyes wide, and his eyebrows peaked in interest. "Did he really just talk?" "It appears so." Ethan murmured. "How did he know my name?" Ryan asked, confused and bewildered. "Probably 'cause he caught it while Trina was takin' roll." Tyler commented. "He's sort of . . . " " . . . Intriguing? Yes, we are aware." Ethan quietly finished Ryan's sentence for him. "Either way, I know full well that he doesn't ride our bus." "Doesn't he live all the way in St. Graham's?" Ian asked. "That's about . . . An hour from here?" "I think so." Anthony commented. "It's not that hard to find. Plus, since my ma is the counselor, I can confirm." "Then how . . . " Ryan's words trailed off, for he couldn't put his disbelief into words. "Hey. At least if he tries doin' somethin' to you, we got your back. Right, gang?" "Uh, sure." Ian agreed, hesitantly. "Thing is, though, I heard he's a prodigy at fighting. Remember that poor kid that made the mistake of picking on him, Anthony? Tyler?" "Yeah," Tyler said, shaking his head. "Didn't the kid have to go to the E.R.? For . . . What was it . . . A broken collar bone, a snapped arm, and smashed ribs?" "Yep." Anthony remarked. "He stayed home for about a month. Amazing thing is, he didn't get in trouble, the mute. Since it was purely self-defense." "I . . . " By now, Ryan was starting to get woozy and traumatized at both the thoughts of a stalker and for another unknown reason. Some mysterious migraine of some sort suddenly began pounding through his skull, and his hands found themselves clamped desperately against the side of his head, his head bowing from the absolutely illogical pain. "Ryan?" Anna tilted her head. "Are you okay?" "Ry? Dude, what is with . . . " Anthony's voice trailed off, too incredulous to find the proper words. Abruptly, right after he cast a concerned glance Ryan's way, Ethan began feeling shocks of pain through out his body, out of absolute nowhere, causing him to keel over. No subtle warning, no minor startings, just fiery, electrifying pain wracked his thin frame. He felt like a lightning bolt had slammed into him, his skull pounding like a drum, and he swore he heard the whirring circuitry of a computer in his ears. This is all he heard, the circuitry, followed by the appalled, worried shouts of his friends and his brother, before he blacked out. '' ~Ethan Viruca's P.O.V.~ '' My eyes fluttered open, my eyelids feeling like they had been shut for eternity--unsticking from my eyes like scotch tape from plastic. Letting out a despaired groan, I shoved my hands under myself and sat myself upwards with a shaky push. I didn't know where I was, but, it seemed familiar, yet unfamiliar; the place I was in was black. Dark. The surface I sat on was icy-cold, like neglected kitchen tile. I hated, yet also missed, that feeling . . . ~No one's P.O.V.~ He surveyed his surroundings even further, until he discovered a curled-up body sprawled haplessly onto the pitch-black floor. Tentatively, Ethan shakily got to his feet, slightly fearful, and slowly made his way towards the body. Upon closer inspection, he realized it was Ryan. Happiness, suspicion, and fear pulsed through his heart, and he quickly ran towards his friend, hoping that he was okay. When he reached his friend, he crouched down, and gently tapped his shoulder. He felt disturbingly cold. Ethan lay a hand onto Ryan's shoulder, and was struck with shock when he felt no subtle rise and fall of gentle breathing on his sides. "Ryan?" Ethan spoke up, quietly. "Ryan, wake up. Please." Ethan prodded his friend, worry beginning to etch its way onto his face. He shook him rather roughly. "Ryan, please. Wake up. I . . . " He hesitated, for a moment, worry compounding into fear. "I feel so scared and alone. Please wake up . . . " Ethan shook Ryan roughly for a moment, and turned his head to survey his surroundings once again. This time, however, voices suddenly flooded his thoughts the second he turned around. Unfamiliar, yet, at the same time, familar to him. '' . . . Surely not. It can't be . . . Can it? '' '' Afraid so. They-- '' A sudden burst of static cut off the rest of the sentence, causing him to jump slightly, and when it cleared, the voices had faded into an indecipherable language that he had never heard of, before. It certainly was not gibberish; for it had fluidity and smoothness, so Ethan was left baffled. He heard a low, ragged groan behind him, so he jolted his attention back to Ryan's crumpled corpse that lay unceremoniously on the ground. He saw that he had begun twitching, slightly, and warmth began to creep up Ethan's fingers, which still lay on the blonde's shoulder, which, in turn, flooded Ethan with relief--he finally knew that Ryan was alive. He shook him, again. "Ryan? Wake up, please." He murmured, softly. Unconsciously, his hand moved up to Ryan's head, where his fingers gently ran through his soft, creamy-blonde locks, hoping to sooth Ryan in his slumber. He tentatively carded through the thick, medium-length hair, and used his free hand to overturn Ryan onto his back, where he surveyed the blonde's face. Ryan was relatively-pale--his skin was without flaws, and looked relatively-smooth, and he seemed to have a small scar on his right cheek. Skeptical, but courteous, he decided not to put much thought into it. He shook Ryan, again, and to his delight, he earned a response--a soft mumble of irritation--and forcefully shook Ryan, again. "Wake up." Ethan said, again. "You've had plenty of sleep. Please, wake up." He spotted movement under Ryan's eyelids, indicating that he was dreaming, but he didn't care--he shook Ryan, again. "Wake up," Ethan murmured, softly. He finally earned an appropriate response--a harsh snarl of annoyance, followed by groggy dialogue. "Shut up, Ethan." He had hissed, voice ragged. "Let me sleep." "No. Wake up." Ethan said, sternly. He shook him, again. Ryan shot up, rust-colored eyes dull from sleep, and he glared fiercely at the blue-eyed teenager. "You should really--" The blonde had began, before realizing where they were. "What the Heck? Where . . . ?" "I'm not sure myself." Ethan sighed. "Though, I suspect that it will brighten up, eventually." As if on cue, the blackness had begun swirling upwards to a point in the 'ceiling', the floor eventually becoming marble tile, and the walls clean-shaven plaster, which, in turn, was a creamy tan. Chandeliers hung from above. "Hey . . . Isn't this my house?" Ryan asked, voice hushed. "Looks to be so." Ethan answered. "Though, it doesn't feel to be so, at the same time." "Where'd--" Ryan began asking, before hearing footsteps. Something immediately told him that the one making them wasn't anyone that he knew. "Quick. In the closet." He whispered, urgently. He quickly took hold of Ethan's wrist, and dragged him over to the supply closet, where he had promptly shoved both him and himself into the dark, dusty space. He proceeded to clumsily close the door, until there was barely a third of an inch of light cracking through the darkness. As the footsteps drew closer and louder, Ryan immediately regretted hiding in the clammy, claustrophobic space. He felt Ethan's soft breaths pervading his neck, but he decided not to address it. Rounding the corner was a pair of strangers unlike any other--a black-haired visitor, appearing around the equivalent of Ryan's age, maybe a little older, and the strange teenager had one red eye, and a bandage over the other eye. However, the remote resemblance of humanity--besides the eyes--stopped there. This stranger had a dense black fringe, and two cat-like ears stuck up from the teenager's head. Ryan could even see that the stranger even had a tail dipped in white around the tip, and his attire consisted of a flowing cloak that appeared deliberately torn at the hems, and a spiky collar the color of blood. The other visitor was considerably taller than his counterpart, and seemed at least a year older. Despite this, Ethan could tell that they were the same--species? Race?--without hesitation. White ears sat daintily on top of thick, glossy, dark-blue hair, and no highlights adorned this stranger's straight locks. He also had a black cloak similar to the other's, but it was instead lined with gray computer circuitry. Dark blue eyes peeked out from the thick blanket that covered half of his face--and possibly half of his vision, both Ryan and Ethan hoped--and seemed to swirl with endless shades of blue. It soon dawned upon the hiding teenagers that the blue-eyed stranger was speaking. They strained their ears, trying to hear what he was saying. " . . . You shouldn't have done that--it would have just led to more trouble, is what I told you. It seems blatantly apparent, that you didn't care about the future to come. Now, here you are. Please, listen to me, more." The stranger was saying, gently-patting his shorter counter part's shoulder. As they listened in, Ryan failed to see his arm pushing open the creaky closet door, and they both found themselves blinded by the sunlight--and drowning in the realization that they had been caught. Ethan flinched, and looked away, and Ryan instinctively got ready for a fight. However, the strangers seemed unperturbed--it seemed as if they haven't even seen them--as they walked past, without a response. Ethan glanced up, realizing what had just happened, and Ryan's stiffened muscles and pounding heart eased. "Uh . . ." Ryan said, awkwardly. "It seems as if we were not within sight?" Ethan remarked, rubbing the back of his hand. "Then again, this is all a supposed dream." He said. "Yeah, probably." Ryan muttered. "When are we going to wake up?" "Don't ask me." Ethan replied, shaking his head, and shrugging his shoulders, palms held upwards in futility. "Though, I am awfully curious as to how we are so lucid, at the moment . . . " "Hey, uh, Ethan." Ryan said, glancing up. "Your hand." "Eh?" Ethan blinked, then glanced at his hand. It had become reminiscent to that of Atari 8-bit graphics--and rippling like the static of a T.V. monitor. "What on earth . . . ?" Ethan whispered, his eyes widened in incredulous disbelief. He glanced at Ryan. "Ryan! Look at your hand!" "What?" Ryan quickly glanced at his right hand--it seemed as if he were see-through, and fire was showing through his body. "What the Hell?" "Ryan, I--" At this point, Ethan was warping like a hologram gone wrong, and Ryan was abruptly sparking like spitting tongues of fire. Each movement led to either intense warping, or vicious sparks. "Can we like, you know, WAKE THE HELL UP?" Ryan yelled, exasperated. "Either we knock each other out, or warp out of existence." Ethan hissed, his teeth grit. "I'LL GO WITH THE FORMER." Ryan snarled, stepping towards him. "What? No!" Ethan said, quickly, backing away. Before he could turn and run, however, his body had warped harshly, and he vanished with a staticy flourish. Ryan soon met the same fate, sparks exploding into millions of blinding pieces and instantaneously swirling around him in a vortex of fire, and also making him disappear in a sudden vanishing act. "Are they dead?" "No. Don't you see 'em breathin'?" "Shut up. They're waking up." Ethan blinked his oddly-heavy eyelids open. Letting out a ragged groan, he lay a hand over his eyes, and heaved a heavy sigh. He turned his head, and saw Ryan staring up at the ceiling, eyes half-closed. "What time is it?" Ryan asked, passing a sidewards glance to Tyler. "5 P.M.." Tyler clarified. "Think it's time to go." "Agreed." Ethan mumbled, uncovering his eyes. He sat up, and took a moment to stretch. "Uhm, did you guys get knocked out, too?" "Somewhat." Ian answered. "Dream didn't last long, though." "Same for me." Anthony commented. "Yours lasted the longest, really." Tyler said, scratching the back of his head. "We . . . Were really worried, about you both." '' ~Ryan's P.O.V.~'' ' ' ' '''After THAT fiasco, Tyler, Anthony, Ethan, Seth, Anna, and Ash had left. I miserably flopped back into the cushioned sofas, my hands tucked behind my head, eyes fluttering shut. Just resting my eyes, is all . . . I should have known I wouldn't be able to open my eyes back up, again. I cracked my eyes open, squinting through the blinding beams of sunlight shining onto the auburn couch. Groaning, I rubbed my eyes, and looked at the time. Oddly enough, it was only 6:50. It's spring, so I couldn't exactly deem it unjustified. I sat up, and prompted myself with a long stretch, and even cracking my back and neck a bit to loosen up. I still had plenty of time. I ran into the bathroom, where I took a quick shower, and brushed my teeth. After that, cleaned and coifed in fresh, comfortable, not-overly-hot clothing, I had practiced my usual routine--sliding down the stair rail with sneakers on, before nearly landing my face near the counter top island after I had spiraled down those cursed stairs and had a brief tumbling spree. I glanced at the oven clock. 7:10. Well, I still had time, didn't I? Maybe . . . I had heard that you could turn your toaster into some make-shift oven, or something, just by turning it onto its side. Maybe . . . I quickly hurdled over to the cabinet, where I turned up a tightly-wrapped bag of bread, and retrieved four slices of cheese. After unwrapping each fresh slice from its cellophane nest, I put two slices on each piece of bread. After THAT, I tried turning the toaster onto its side. Unfortunately for me, it was one of those toasters with a rounded rectangular shape, and it wouldn't really stay still. Maybe . . . I propped the toaster back onto its legs, and put each decorated slice of bread into the toaster slots, anyway. The cheese kept unsticking, so I had to spend time trying to make it stay. Then, when I had succeeded in THAT (arduous) task, I pushed down the toaster's switch. Experiment time. ''Pop!, went the we--er, toaster. I peeked inside the toaster to see how it went. ALL of the cheese had melted and sopped through the barred bottom of the bread holder, some of it clinging onto the bars, and most of it had slopped onto the crumb catcher. God dammit. I spent the rest of my free time trying to scrape out the remains of the cheese of that toaster. Eventually, I had smacked my chopsticks down onto the countertop, and glanced at the time. 7:54. I grabbed my backpack and sprinted out the door, slamming the auto-locking door shut. Once I had gotten to first class, I saw my fellow friends sitting at the group of desks we had requested Mrs. Trina for. I smirked when I saw Anna clutching the gigantic archive. Mrs. Trina knew Anna's storytelling habits well, and had given 'special privileges' during social time. Anna immediately flipped to a page upon seeing Ryan enter the room. This time, the tale was about a mysterious anomaly that was dubbed 'The Silence'. He was the ruler's most trusted advisor--and I'm guessing the one that succeeded the ruler in The Manipulator's tale--and a stealthy assassin. Before his life in the palace, he was an renowned spy, collecting valuable information that would have never been shared with the public. Information that was confined to the higher government parties alone. He was known as 'the shadow that could hear'. ~No one's P.O.V.~ However, despite the occasional claims of sighting this agent of an unknown occupation, militia refused further pursuit on the subject after several basic search attempts. Then, one faithful day, an adventurous young child had sighted the anomaly, and, oddly enough, the tale said that the assassin did not subdue the child. He had simply given the child a silent gesture of silence, and disappeared. Several years had passed, the assassin continuing to elude government eyes. However, the spy of immeasurable talent had eventually surrendered himself to the militia. It was revealed that the assassin had turned himself in out of sheer boredom. As angry shouts snarled against the 'shadow that hears', it was eventually revealed that the assassin was mute, and had not disclosed any of the valuable information he had gathered. The ruler--who was the leader prior to the ruler during The Manipulator's era--had stated that the assassin was to serve as his advisor as 'punishment' for him and all succeeding leaders until his services were spent. Although this was addressed with much controversy, the ruler quickly justified his decision--he would assist in infiltration missions, and would serve as an essential asset to preserving information. Although everyone had seemingly agreed, contradictory grumbles had sounded after the meeting--and the Silence had heard it all, already fulfilling a task on his first hour. After notifying the king through sign language and having the rising, rebellious government staff executed, the assassin continued his days as an all-hearing spy, and even spent some of those days training up the king's heir--a strong, solemn lad that would later come to meet another great soon-to-be. However, as the years passed, the ailing king came to realize that he had to perform a coronation prior to his retirement--so he had his son rise up to the throne, taking his place, and resided in the kingdom's palace for 19 years before his death, while the Silence performed diligently at the new king's side. "Whoa, whoa, hey." Anthony spoke up. "How'd they write about this assassin if next to nothing about him? He was mute, right? How could he have possibly told his entire story through SIGN LANGUAGE?" Just to annoy him, Ethan had given the explanation in sign language, and Anthony gave him another sign--a sharp glare. "Hah," Ryan snorted. ~Later, when school ends~ ~Ryan's P.O.V.~ Jesus Christopher on a bus. I had no idea that school emptied out this fast. I mean, yeah, people want to go home, but dang. I had been staying after to get extra study help in math. I couldn't help but feel particularly proud of myself--I felt like a pro at trigonometry, now. Quietly heading through the lobby of the school, my sneakers squeaking as they dragged across the slick tile with each step, I intended on going through the double doors and crossing the back side of the building. As I passed the janitors' closet, the first thing I heard was an eerily unsettling creak. Stopping dead in my tracks and whipping around, the closet door had slowly squeaked open, the creaky noises echoing through the hall. "The Hell?" I muttered, casting a trailing stare at the suspicious door. Now, you know I shouldn't, but I did. I backtracked towards the closet door, my head tilting slightly as I saw nothing but the inky blackness of the small strip of darkness showing within the slightly open door. I tentatively stepped forward. Okay, nothing here, so . . . Turning back around to leave, I felt an incredibly strong grip latch onto my backpack, and instantly drag me inside the closet, the door slamming shut with a click of forlorn hope. The next thing I knew, I was pinned against the wooden shelves of the supply closet, the stiff wood digging into my back. My feet weren't touching the ground, either. I was being held at least a foot and a half above the ground. The same strong force that had pulled me in--which I soon identified as a hand--was clamped around my mouth to keep me from screaming. Which is what I desperately wanted to do. My eyes wildly shifting back and forth to try and take in my surroundings--the air smelled harshly of bleach and cleaning supplies--my gaze flickered to the glowing orbs that stared me down. I kicked my legs, and I lifted up my arms to try and pry away the attacker--but it was as if I were nothing. My fingers desperately clawing at the rough hand held fast to my face, it finally occurred to me that I could just-- Before I could finish that thought, my body acted unconsciously--one hand lashing out at the eyes in front of me. The eyes had quickly shied away from the attempted assault, causing me to hiss quietly in annoyance. Then, the eyes began slowly, slowly inching their way towards my face, going that very, very creepy transition to staring into my eyes and still holding me fast so that I couldn't look away. Instinctively, I shut my eyes, and tried my best to turn my head away from the creeping pair of glowing eyes, which were widening more and more the closer they got. I was struggling for real, now, thrashing around and trying to relinquish myself from the vice grip of the hand clamped over my mouth and painfully squeezing my jaw bone. Then, when I peeked open an eye, the glowing stare was barely half an inch away, staring at me with eyes seemingly the size of dinner plates. I squeezed my eyes shut even more tightly, but then, abruptly, I felt the cold glare fade away, and the hand holding me fast had instantly dropped me a foot and a half onto my butt to meet with cold tile, my foot banging against a worn metal bucket. Ouch. As suddenly as the terror began, it had ended. Just. Like. That. I just sat there, for awhile, absently running a finger along a necklace strewn around my neck. I didn't know if I already had it on, or not. I didn't care--I had forgotten everything that had happened, today, anyway. I quietly got up, using the old, creaky wooden shelves that had previously been digging into my spine, as a support. I tentatively made my way out of the closet, and headed out the door, still slightly dazed. When I got home, I nearly had a heart attack when I saw a group of people crowded around the porch. However, this feeling quickly faded when I recognized Ethan, Anthony, and the others. "Hey." I called out softly. "Got caught up?" Tyler piped up. "Sort of, yeah." I sighed softly. "Explain." Ethan said, poking my shoulder. "You wouldn't believe me." I hissed, teeth gritting. "Don't be like that." Anthony growled. "We'll believe you. There's no reason NOT to tell us. Besides, we're your friends--we should be able to help you out." "Per the Ant." Anna agreed wholeheartedly. "Well," I began hesitantly. "I was caught by a random person in the closet--" "WHOA, WHAT." Tyler jumped up abruptly, surprising me to bits in the process. Ethan promptly gave Tyler a firm smack on the back, which was promptly ignored. "You got nabbed?" Anthony asked, his eyes widened with his eyebrows perked up. "Yeah . . . " ~No one's P.O.V.~ "By who? Did you see?" Ashley/Ash asked, scratching at the peeling paint of the porch floor. "No." Ryan sighed, taking out his house key and promptly proceeding to unlock the door. "It was a dark closet. Smelled like bleach." "Can you at least tell us what you DID see?" Seth impatiently hopped up and down once or twice, causing the porch to creak and groan slightly. "Did you see anything at all?" Ethan said, quietly. "Yes." "Well? Spit it out! Don't keep us in the dark!" Seth hissed, hopping once or twice onto the porch. "Red. Bright red eyes." Chapter 4 - Don't forget your roots. Silence immediately befell upon the room. "RED eyes, you say?" Anna asked. "Yeah. They glowed. And they looked bigger than a human's. And I tried to guess how big the hand holding me up was, and I can say that with both of my hands clinging onto it, my fingers don't even wrap fully around it." "Then should we find whoever did this?" Ethan piped up, his voice containing some uncertainty. "Hell no." Anthony snapped. "Did you hear how he described his captor? No way that we could take on something like that." He scowled and kicked at the floor. "Well, ya don't know 'til ya try." Tyler said, slamming a fist into an open palm. "It's us against that one guy. Anna, Ash, me, Anthony, Ethan, Ryan, Ian, and maybe Seth. It should be a piece a cake." "You don't get it." Anthony snarled. "Ryan described his attacker as powerful. He couldn't even wrap all of his fingers around its' wrist. That means that he could be a much taller and lankier than Ian. And that's saying a lot. Ian plays basketball and he's the second tallest in the entire team. Close to first." "Alright, then what DO we do?" Ian finally muttered, self-consciously trying to imagine someone taller than himself. "Nothing." Ethan said. "We can't do anything. Maybe we should go with Ryan at his after-school sessions; we have to see if this attacker has the audacity to attack multiple people protecting his intended target. If he does, then abandon all attempts at retaliation. That's all there is to it." "Sounds like a plan to me." Anthony agreed, face looking slightly flushed from how much he disagreed with fighting back. "Alright." Tyler sighed, tousling his light hair. "But . . . What if WE get attacked? Picked off so that we can't help Ryan?" Seth asked in a small voice. "I don't wanna be attacked. Especially by a big scary bully like that." "Seth, if anybody picks on you, then I'll clobber them for you." Ash offered. "Nobody messes with you. Not even the government. Me and Anna are going to keep them away from you and beat them up if they try anything." Seth's face stretched into a big, wide, bright grin. "Yeah, per Seth . . . What if the guy brings allies and knocks US out?" Ian mumbled, shifting slightly. "Then retaliate and save your own life at all costs." Ethan said firmly. "Use the advantageous properties of adrenaline while you're able to. Go all out. Understood?" "Yeah!" "Mhm," "Yessir!" Everyone agreed. Anthony's P.O.V. I was tired. Exhausted, even. The news about Ryan was certainly a shock. All I wanted to do was go home and avoid conflict. Which might actually be difficult, considering the possibility of being ambushed on the way home. Everyone had gone their seperate ways. Out of everyone's houses, mine was the farthest from Ryan's. At least a 2-3 mile walk--or run--and would best take me at least 45 minutes on foot. But it was decently early--5:57 right now. I should be able to make it if I make a mad dash. So, I did. Luckily for me, I was an avid participant in the Cross Country Club. So my body was sufficiently built up with two and a half years of experience dodging trees, avoiding slips on mud, and leaping over old, dead logs. My feet barely even seemed to be touching the ground as I was trying to get home as fast as possible. I wasn't exactly paying attention to anything else besides running in a straight line on the sidewalk, but I couldn't help but notice a rather large shadow hovering over me. Doggedly trying to keep my balance and my path straight, I turned my head around and up. The first thing I saw was a gigantic silhouette, blocking out the sun and hanging only a meter above me. The first thought that came to my head was the so-called Cryptid called the 'Moth Man'. I didn't believe in such things, but I've read about it. It seemed to fit the description, but at the same time, it didn't. Gigantic wings were stretched out above me, like a huge hang glider. I could barely see any detailed features of the flying thing, like a face; it was blocking out the sun and the angle I was trying to look at it from was uncomfortable. So, I decided to put on one last spurt of energy and keep running, turning my head back to look up ahead. I kept an eye on the shadow that had kept itself level over my own, and the faster I tried to run, the bigger the shadow got. Finally deciding to risk it, I threw myself into the hedges I was running along. It hurt, I'll say that. The leaves were wickedly sharp at the points and I got a couple of scratches as a result. I didn't want to risk peeking out to see the flying thing in my face, so I rolled out through the hedge into a backyard, tumbling onto my face into itchy, close-cropped grass. "Ngh . . . " Scratches, grass rashes . . . What next? "HEY!" I heard a voice yell from across the backyard. My eyes traveled up to see a man standing on the back porch, hollering at me. "What're you doin' here?! Get outta my yard unless ya want me to call th' cops!" I groaned lowly to myself. "Er, sorry, sir!" I called back to him. "I didn't mean any harm! It was an accident--sorry!" "Yeh, it bett'r have been . . . " I heard the man loudly mutter half to himself. I watched him make his way back inside of his house, before I shakily stood up, cautiously glancing around to see if I was going to be attacked by that . . . Thing. I brushed off grass seeds and dirt off of my jeans, but I knew that wouldn't solve the problem for the sticks in my hair . . . I slowly crawled back under the hedge, and clammered back onto the sidewalk. I glanced at my watch. 6:25. Dammit. I gradually roused myself, and jogged away from the area as best I could. I saw no shadow this time. ' ~No one's P.O.V.~ ' Bright amber light shone through the curtains of Ryan's room, illuminating his facial features with a soft highlight of gold and bright white. He let out a soft groan when the light penetrated through his eyelids and forced him to open his eyes. Heaving himself up, he tried as best he could to stretch, but he felt too hot and sweaty from sleeping under his covers. He immediately changed clothes, favouring the coolness of the blue denim jeans and a blank, black T-shirt. He had proceeded to drag himself, mind still foggy with sleepy grog, into the bathroom. Where he had brushed his teeth, and washed his hair. He felt considerably better--silky, creamy beige-blond hair brushed back, the cool fabric of his clothes rustling against his skin. He had never felt so wide awake and refreshed. Instead of sliding down the stairs as he usually did, he walked down the steps. When touching down onto the cool tile, he went to make himself breakfast. He had thankfully managed to scrape out the toaster and clean it, so that he could now savour the buttered toast that he loved. He didn't know why he felt so content, today. Maybe because it was a Friday? ' ~Ryan's P.O.V.~ ' My brow knit into a frown. Yes, it was Friday, but usually it felt so slow and dull. Unnecessary, even. But, for whatever reason, I was looking forward to it. After hurriedly eating breakfast, I messily stuffed all of my homework and school papers into my backpack. I remembered the strange student that had pinned me at school after Mrs. Trina's class had ended, and how he had apparently found out where I lived the same day. I remembered the glowing, red, eyes . . . While the memoried were pouring in like a waterfall, I realized that I had stopped stuffing my backpack with school work. I really didn't want to go. Not after all that. I shook my head. No. I AM going. Screw those guys. I have friends that got my back. . . . Right? I quickly zipped up my backpack, locked the front door--and all of the windows--and headed off through the garage. I walked towards my bus stop--which wasn't too far. "Hey." I turned to look at who had greeted me-- And it was the same kid that had cornered me. Same black hair fringed over his right eye, left eye gleaming a pale pea green colour. His expression could only be described as emotionless--face completely relaxed, the corners of his mouth seemingly stiff, as if he's never smiled. Eyes almost appearing half-lidded, lines and old shadows from frowning crossing between his brow. "Er, hello." I offered, half-expecting a snarky sneer. He merely nodded and turned back to looking ... Somewhere. I sighed and looked on as the bus slowly pulled up to the lot. ~Nobody's POV~ "Oi! Blodkat!" A voice called. "Oiii!" Ryan looked up to see Tyler calling him up as he walked into Mrs. Trina's classroom. "Hey!" Ryan said, walking over and fist-bumping Tyler. "How's it going?" Tyler asked. "I suppose it's been alright," Ryan mused, unzipping his backpack to take out his books and binder. "I've had to watch out, though." "Why's that?" "That mute kid, the 11th grader. He spoke to me at the bus stop like there was nothing wrong. It's dumb, yeah, but huh?" Ryan's gaze nervously fixed itself onto the teenager sitting in his seat, who was scrolling through his phone and leaning on one elbow. "But," Tyler mumbled thoughtfully. "This is the same kid that scoped out your house." "Yes!" Ryan hissed. "That's why I'm worried, okay? It feels off." "Don't worry, I feel ya." Tyler sympathized. "I'm sure he won't bother you." "But--" "Dude," Tyler cut off Ryan's protest. "We're BUDS. Buddies! Buds don't let other buds get in trouble. Count on that! 'Kay, Bud?" "Okay ... " Ryan concluded the discussion, albeit reluctantly. He wasn't sure that the kid would leave him alone. Or that his friends would be able to stand against him ... ~Time skip~ Clattering and protests rang out against the default noise of the cafeteria. "Who ARE they?" Ryan asked, leaning towards Ash, but his question towards all of his friends. A big Senior boy and his cronies were threatening a kid for his lunch. A typical school bully affair--laced with crude insults and swear words and slang that made little to no sense. The poor boy was a 10th grader, pale and painfully shy around the school, and often picked on due to his vulnerability. "Typical pieces of trash." Ash grumbled. "Atypical school bullies." Ethan sighed, poking his fork in his tuna salad. "Leader is Bernard Jackson. Colleagues are Braxton Boiruki, Garbie Yulysis, and Henny Dartz." "Garbie? Henny?" Ryan quirked an eyebrow. "Are they nicknames?" "No." Ethan said. "Real names." "Psshaw, please, Viruca." Tyler snorted, waving his hand at him dramatically. "I thought you were smart! Garbie IS a nickname--it's for garbage, duh!" Ryan surpressed a loud laugh, as his friends chuckled their amusement. Even some of the surrounding students sniggered. The kids watched as the poor 10th grader was relinquished from Bernard's harassment, and he and his gang was taken away to be interrogated by the vice principal. A slight twinge of of paranoia pinched Ryan's mind, and he quietly went back to eating his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. "I'm honestly a little concerned." Anna mumbled, setting down the crust of her ham and cheese sandwich. "Tyler, that was a great joke--but don't forget that that might turn their attention to us. And, face it--we don't want to deal with their underaverage intelligence. They clearly don't have the ability to reason right off the bat, you know?" Ryan mentally thanked Anna for conveying what he was thinking so well. "Maybe." Anthony commented. "Though, there would be no doubt that they would continue to deal with their current targets. We've plenty of defense against them." "Still." Anna insisted. "We don't want to deal with them. Even if their intelligence is lacking, they have brawn. They'd fight blindly." Seth quietly griped for Ash's arm and silently clung onto it, looking particularly paranoid. "Relax." Ethan said softly, staring down at Seth with a piercing azure gaze. "They won't get you. They would be punished if they tried to." The table was quiet for the rest of the lunch period. '' ~Time skip~ '' Ethan was quietly walking home, his backpack slung over his shoulder. He was texting his brother as he headed down the sidewalk, meandering along as he approached his neighbourhood. He shut off his phone, looking around as he was simultaneously putting his backpack back onto his shoulders. Thoughts whirred through his head, the lingering conversation back at lunch still worrying him. He knew of the bullies well. They were seniors that had been held back many times due to their misdemeanors. Graffiti, gang fights, vandalism. The list went on. He knew all of this, being well-affiliated with the school and its happenings, despite him only being there for three years. He knew the gang was a massive safety risk, and he thought it was ludicrous that they weren't expelled. As he approached his home and began unlocking the door with his house key, he was somber. Chapter 05 - Sharp Like Dog Teeth '' ~Time Skip~ '' Ryan sat awkwardly, one hand running through his hair as his gaze flickered around the classroom, occasionally falling upon a classmate. Once or twice, someone from another class would come in and talk to the teacher about something--not everyday, but occasionally. He watched as a scrawny looking teenager with pale skin and half-lidded eyes make his timid way towards Mrs. Trina, his left arm hanging limply like that of a ragdoll, clad in a brace. Ryan was slightly off-put by this ragged-looking student, with twinges of concern. After the boy had handed Mrs. Trina a small, yellow envelope, they had turned and fixed their eyes on Ryan, who stared into their dark, gray, half-lidded eyes. Ryan was off-put even more when he realized that he was looking at the boy who was getting tormented by Bernard and his gang. The boy frowned, looking angered and even slightly hurt. He put his left hand into the pocket of his sweater, and he hastily made his way out. " ... Ethan. Ian." Ryan mumbled, leaning towards his friends. "Hm ...?" Ethan mumbled, as he scribbled random shapes on a blank sheet of paper. "Who ... Who was that kid that just walked out?" "We--" Ian began, before Ethan cut him off. '' **Need to stop here. Will pick back up later. ''